


Just Take a Breath

by lionheartedghost



Series: Nobody Said It Was Easy [4]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bobby Nash Being a Dad, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionheartedghost/pseuds/lionheartedghost
Summary: Buck’s jaw clenches. He turns his head away, but not before Bobby sees the glimmer of frustration in Buck’s eyes. “I’m sick of this,” he mumbles. His voice is thick, catching on the words.“I know, kid.” Bobby rests a hand on Buck’s shoulder and squeezes. Buck leans into the touch, and Bobby pretends he doesn’t notice him sniffing.Bobby tries to help Buck as he recovers from the ladder truck incident.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Bobby Nash
Series: Nobody Said It Was Easy [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560784
Comments: 8
Kudos: 135





	Just Take a Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @buckleystrand on Tumblr who asked for some Bobby helping Buck with his recovery.
> 
> Fic title taken from 'Losing Me (Piano Version)' by Gabrielle Aplin & JP Cooper.
> 
> Also posted on Tumblr.

This wasn’t really how Bobby had envisioned seeing Buck’s new apartment for the first time.  
  
The key Maddie had pressed into his hand is cold against his palm. He glances down at it, considers the divots in the metal.  
  
“He’s not really answering the door right now,” Maddie had said by way of explanation. She’d given him a watery smile and he’d nodded back, because really, what else could he do? It wasn’t a surprise; Eddie had said something similar to him during their last shift at work, the firehouse still heavy with silence as they tried to adjust to being a man down. Worry had sat in Bobby’s chest ever since, but he’d kept it from his face as best he could. Showing it wouldn’t help the team. It wouldn’t help Maddie. It certainly wouldn’t help Buck.  
  
Bobby knocks on the door and waits. He can hear it echoing against the wood, but there’s no sign of acknowledgement, no sound of anyone coming to greet him.  
  
Bobby knocks again. Still nothing.  
  
“Buck,” Bobby calls, “it’s me. I’m coming in.”  
  
There’s still no indication Buck’s heard him, but Bobby’s fairly sure he has. He fits the key into the lock and turns it, pushes the door open, and steps inside.  
  
The darkness of Buck’s apartment makes it nearly impossible to tell that it’s the middle of the afternoon. Bobby crosses to the window and pulls back the curtains, letting bright light flood in for the first time in… well, since Maddie last stopped by a few days ago, he suspects.  
  
The apartment is relatively tidy. There’s a blanket folded up over the back of the couch. There’s no garbage left on the coffee table. There are no unwashed pans stacked by the sink. But if anything, that makes Bobby more worried.  
  
“Buck?” He tries again.  
  
There’s movement from upstairs. A creak from the bed as Buck rolls over, and a frustrated sigh that would’ve brought a fond smile to Bobby’s face in any other circumstance. All it does now is break his heart that little bit more.  
  
Bobby takes the stairs carefully. He pauses just before the landing, but whether it’s for Buck’s benefit or his, he isn’t sure. He steels himself and climbs the final few steps.  
  
Buck is lying on top of the covers, an arm thrown over his eyes. “Maddie gave you her key,” he guesses.  
  
“Yep.” Bobby doesn’t bother denying it.  
  
“If I wanted visitors I’d answer the door.”  
  
“That’s too bad.” Bobby casts a careful eye over Buck. He knows it must be near impossible to get pants over the cast, but Buck looks like he hasn’t changed out of the t-shirt and boxer shorts he wore to bed. There’s a glass of water on the nightstand that looks like it’s long since gone stagnant. Buck’s crutches are discarded on the floor just out of reach of the bed; Bobby isn’t sure if Buck left them there on purpose or if maybe he pushed them away and regretted it later.  
  
“What happened to sleeping on the couch until the cast came off?” Bobby asks, moving around the side of the bed. “I thought you weren’t going to risk the stairs.”  
  
Buck takes his arm away from his face and meets Bobby’s eye. “I got sick of it.”  
  
It’s almost a challenge, Bobby thinks, the way Buck says it, like he’s trying to goad Bobby into lecturing him so he has an excuse to argue.  
  
Bobby only raises an eyebrow. “Your kitchen looks like it’s barely been used. Have you been eating?”  
  
Buck looks away with a shrug. Bobby isn’t surprised.  
  
“I’ll make you something.”  
  
“I’m not hungry.”  
  
“You need to eat. Have you been taking your pain meds, at least?”  
  
Buck sits up; his bad leg sticks out awkwardly in front of him. He nods, the defiance dying away. “Yeah. But they don’t make a difference.”  
  
Bobby sits carefully on the edge of the bed. “That’s something you should tell your physio at your next PT session,” he says gently, “so they can help you.”  
  
Buck’s jaw clenches. He turns his head away, but not before Bobby sees the glimmer of frustration in Buck’s eyes. “I’m sick of this,” he mumbles. His voice is thick, catching on the words.  
  
“I know, kid.” Bobby rests a hand on Buck’s shoulder and squeezes. Buck leans into the touch, and Bobby pretends he doesn’t notice him sniffing.  
  
Bobby waits a minute before he presses the issue again. “I’m gonna make you something to eat. You want me to bring it up here or do you want help getting downstairs?”  
  
Buck’s silent for a moment as he thinks. Then, so quietly Bobby almost doesn’t hear him, he replies, “Downstairs. Please.”  
  
“No problem.”  
  
It takes them a while, Bobby supporting Buck’s weight on his injured side while Buck clutches at the bannister on the other, but they make it. Buck’s sweating, beads of perspiration on his forehead by the time he all but collapses into the couch cushions. Bobby hands him a glass of water and turns his attention to the contents of Buck’s refrigerator. Luckily, someone - Maddie and Chim, Bobby guesses - thought to restock it on his behalf.  
  
“The apartment’s nice,” Bobby says as he throws ingredients into a pan. “I like it.”  
  
“It’s better than sleeping on an air mattress on Maddie’s floor.” Buck manages a smile. He watches Bobby cook; the smile wavers. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Bobby frowns at him over his shoulder. “For what?”  
  
“For making all of you feel like you need to come over and check on me. For doing such a bad job of everything on my own.”  
  
Bobby leaves the pan to simmer over a low heat. He sits down on the couch beside Buck and angles himself to look him in the eye; the look on Bobby’s face is so sincere, so determined, it almost hurts Buck to look at it.  
  
“You’re not making us do anything,” Bobby says firmly. “We check in on you because you’re family, Buck; family looks out for one another.”  
  
Buck swallows.  
  
“When you and Hen found me in my apartment after the plane crash, did you resent me for not being able to cope on my own?”  
  
Buck blanches. “Of course not. Bobby, you were having a hard time, you just needed a little help. There’s nothing wrong with that.”  
  
Bobby looks pointedly at him.  
  
Buck breathes a sigh. “That’s different.”  
  
“Yeah? How?”  
  
“Because I-” Buck falters. He shakes his head. “It just is.”  
  
“No it isn’t. Buck, you went through something horrific. It could’ve killed you. It nearly did.”  
  
“Except it didn’t,” Buck mutters, “but somehow my life’s still over.”  
  
“Buck, you’re twenty-eight. Your life isn’t even halfway over.”  
  
“But if I can’t come back to work-”  
  
“Who said anything about you not coming back to work?” Bobby interrupts. “Buck, if you measure every day by whether or not you’re ready to come back to work, you’re not gonna do yourself any favours. It’ll take time, sure, but you can do this. Eventually, everything’s gonna work out.”  
  
Buck doesn’t look convinced. “You don’t know that it will.”  
  
“And you don’t know that it won’t,” Bobby counters. “But if you give up before you’ve even given yourself a shot, it definitely won’t. The only way to get through this is to keep going.”  
  
Buck looks away for a moment, biting down on the inside of his cheek. “What if I can’t?” He whispers.  
  
“You can,” Bobby promises. “Just take a breath. Whatever happens, Buck, you’ve got us, and you’re not losing us any time soon.”  
  
Buck clears his throat. Slowly, he nods. It’s only once, and it’s shaky, uncertain, but it’s a start. Bobby takes it as a win.  
  
They eat in silence, the hum of the TV Buck switches on as an afterthought the only sound in the apartment. He’s a little more relaxed than he was when Bobby first got there. Less tension in his shoulders. A little more colour in his cheeks.  
  
Buck meets Bobby’s eye; he gives a smile that’s hardly more than a faint tug at the corners of his mouth, but it’s there. It’s real. It’s hopeful.  
  
And for the first time since the night of the accident, Bobby feels like he can breathe again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it and you have a minute to leave kudos and a comment, I would be super grateful <3
> 
> If you want to leave a prompt or just say hi, you can find me on Tumblr [here](http://lionheartedghost.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Stay safe and well, folks!


End file.
